


Cold War

by ribcage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Fights, Humor, Inspired By Tumblr, Jim and Molly in love, Jim is a Little Shit, Office Sex, POV Female Character, POV Molly Hooper, Romance, Sebastian has to put up with Jim and Molly's relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribcage/pseuds/ribcage
Summary: She had to admit Jim was creative. Who else would think to kill three ice cream salesmen from different towns and attach a one-worded note to each corpse, forming the sentence, “Ready to concede?”





	Cold War

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to BurningLostStars (whyimmathere on Tumblr), my Molliarty fangirl pal, for helping me brainstorm ways for Jim to be a little shit, and for being supportive as I wrote this fic! It turned out way longer than I intended. Hope you enjoy, and if you do, bookmarks, comments, and/or kudos are very much appreciated!

Well, Molly thought. This was one way to end their Cold War.

She had to admit Jim was creative. Who else would think to kill three ice cream salesmen from different towns and attach a one-worded note to each corpse, forming the sentence, “Ready to concede?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, the sound traveling past her fingertips which were pressed contemplatively to her mouth. “Unbelievable,” she said at last.

From where he stood on the opposite side of the cadavers, Sebastian flashed her a dark look. “Tell me about it. I’ve worked for the man for over a decade and he still manages to surprise me.”

Molly jutted her chin forward in disbelief. “ _You’re_ complaining? Do you have any idea how long I’ll be here for? Three extra bodies, Sebastian! In addition to the ones I was already assigned for today!”

Sebastian stared at her like he was finally starting to understand why she and Jim were together. “Precisely: three extra bodies, Molly, in addition to the ones I’m already scheduled to take out today!” He waved his hand around, motioning to the ice cream men. “And these bastards didn’t even do anything! I had to track them down and kill them all to send you a message. Because texting is soo difficult…”

Realization dawned on Molly then, and she chuckled without mirth, completely disregarding Sebastian’s plight. “That’s just it: he didn’t text because the war’s still on.”

The blond eyed her warily. “You’re saying presenting you with three dead bodies _wasn’t_ a peace offering?”

“No, no, no.” The small pathologist slowly crept about the room, passing slab after slab. “He knew I’d be stuck with extra work and have to stay late.” Ironic enough, considering work was the entire reason they were in a fight in the first place. Take the world’s only consulting criminal and his pathologist girlfriend each working overtime, each having been awake for a full twenty-four hours, each overly exhausted but insisting upon spending time together, and you were begging for an argument to break out. They hadn’t had any contact for the past three days, and now he was reaching out only to give her more work to do? No way. He didn’t get to win this one.

“Look, I have to get going.” Sebastian pushed away from the wall and opened the door. “Find a way to resolve your relationship issues so I can do my job.”

“Mmm.” Molly offered him a distracted parting nod, her attention on the bodies. She went around to each one and collected their notes. _Ready to concede?_ She shook her head. If Jim honestly believed she would give in that easily…

Her phone buzzed just as she was destroying the evidence. Sure enough, it was the devil himself.

**Any thoughts you’d like to share, Molly dearest? x**

Molly held her phone in both hands and tapped it against her lips. How could she get back at him for this? Normally, she would offer up one of his Westwoods to Toby, but considering the nature of their argument, and the fact she wasn’t currently home, nor would she be for quite some time tonight, she needed something else if she wanted to best him, and she most certainly wanted to best him. She had no choice. Getting angry would only be letting him win, and Molly refused to admit defeat. Toby was her cat; she knew him better than anyone, after all. It would be healthy for Jim to not be right about something for once.

She smiled in spite of herself at the memories that thought roused from the corners of her mind. The only time she really got to see Jim taken aback with surprise was when they watched _Glee_ together. Molly had seen every episode that had aired thus far, but she was bingeing the entire series over again with Jim. Other than those three episodes they had watched when he was Jim from IT, he had never seen the show. The storylines had a way of scandalizing the criminal mastermind, drawing gasps and the occasional “ _No!_ ” from him lips whenever a new secret was revealed, whenever one of his predictions turned out to be wrong. They hadn’t gotten past the first half of the second season yet, what with their respective work schedules. They had actually been in the middle of an episode when their fight broke out—

 _Oh._ Of course.

Feeling an evil sort of energy exploding through her veins, she typed back a reply.

**Finn’s dad didn’t die in Iraq. He died of a drug overdose. Dearest. x**

Molly tried and failed to bite back the grin that stole across her face the moment the read receipt popped up underneath her message. Was this how Jim felt every time he schooled a wayward client? If so, it felt _glorious_.

She didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. It all happened in quick succession: three times a typing bubble appeared on Jim’s side of the conversation; three times it disappeared. Immediately after, Molly’s phone started buzzing with an incoming call from her boyfriend.

She cackled at the mental image of Jim being so furious he couldn’t even type. She declined the call.

**Sorry, I’d love to chat, but someone gave me _so_ much extra work to do. Gotta run! x**

Molly put her phone on silent and slipped it back into the pocket of her lab coat, delighting in her own smug satisfaction. Suddenly, she found she no longer minded the extra work. It seemed a small price to pay in exchange for knowing she had fucked up Jim’s day, too.

* * *

For the next few hours, Molly radiated happiness. More than once she caught herself humming while she worked. She may have started laughing maniacally if Sherlock hadn’t barged in just as she was about to take her lunch break. John was in tow, sporting a tight, apologetic smile on behalf of his flatmate's nonexistent manners.

“Molly, you’re in a good mood,” the consulting detective said without even sparing her a glance. But rather than go on to (incorrectly) deduce why, he then dismissed the thought of her well-being completely to demand several random items he could’ve easily purchased himself on the way over.

She shrugged, entirely apathetic to his predicament. “No can do, Sherlock. It’s lunchtime.”

She was just about to walk through the door when he said, “I beg your pardon?” He sounded genuinely confused.

Molly felt the hypothetical maniacal laughter bubbling up in her throat, threatening to escape. She adamantly pushed it down. Whether they were in a fight or not, she knew how important it was that Sherlock remain in the dark about her relationship with Jim. The couple regularly attended fancy dinners and parties, thrown by the consulting criminal’s colleagues. They knew her as his date, but they didn’t know her real name or where she was from. Jim’s bodyguards knew they were together, knew her name and where she lived, of course, but their knowledge ended there. The only person who knew the full extent of their relationship was Sebastian, who clearly wished otherwise.

Molly looked past a slightly uncomfortable Dr. Watson and met Sherlock’s eyes easily. “Get it yourself,” she borderline whispered. And with that, she turned on her heel and exited the lab.

As she walked down the hall that led to the cafeteria, the pathologist found she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She was just slaying all the sociopaths today, wasn’t she? Though she only cared about besting her boyfriend; she was indifferent to Sherlock now, which was kind of a shame. If she cared, she imagined she would’ve enjoyed the way it felt to put the consulting detective in his place after all the times he’d taken advantage of—

Suddenly, she was being grabbed and pulled into an empty office. Panic flooded her veins, but a hand was clamped over her mouth, preventing her from screaming. When her kidnapper released her in favor of locking the door, Molly discovered him to be none other than her currently estranged boyfriend.

“ _Jim_!”

Jim looked at her with that absent, distracted look he liked to use to make people question his sanity. That or he just did it because he felt like it. “I didn’t startle you, did I, darling?”

Molly silently glowered. Now that her heart wasn’t trying to fight its way out of her chest, she realized she needed to think strategy. She won the last round, so now Jim was here to even out the score. He knew it made her nervous when he dropped by Bart’s like this for fear someone would recognize him. So that was his game? Intimidate her by showing up at her workplace and whisking her away for a visit? He was going to have to try way harder than that if he wanted to unearth her.

“Not at all,” she said, her voice dripping with saccharine composure. “You know how I love to be scared half to death during my lunch break. How sweet of you.”

His dark eyes roved over her body, blatantly admiring her every curve. They’d been together for years and that look still wreaked havoc on Molly’s insides. Ever so slowly, he began to advance on her, a falsely amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Wish I could say the same about you. Spoilers, Molly?” He shook his head, feigning disappointment. “How juvenile.”

Molly openly scoffed at him. She wouldn’t dwell on it now, but it was a powerful thing: to know what Jim had done to little Carl Powers all those years ago for laughing at him, and to know she could do the same and he would never dream of hurting her. But now was not the time to think about the love they shared. Now was time for war.

“Juvenile?” she repeated in disbelief, suddenly aware of their proximity. He was wearing a classic Westwood, of course, the one he happened to know was Molly’s favorite. “Seemed to get the job done; you were properly pissed off. Speaking of which…” She tilted her head, trying her damnedest not to get distracted by the _thing_ he was doing with his tongue as his gaze drifted to her lips. “We’re still in a fight. Why are you here?”

Jim frowned and placed a hand to his heart. “You wound me. Why am I here? It’s been three days since I’ve seen you, my love. Three days since I’ve kissed you…” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, not a kiss, but a tease. She felt the reverberations of her accelerated heartbeat thrum all the way down into her fingertips. “Touched you…” He pushed her lab coat off her shoulders, trailed his fingers along her collar bone, traced the inside of her arm. She shuddered as the best kind of chill ran down her spine. He pulled her flush against him, wrapped his arms around her waist, and whispered in her ear, “Fucked you.”

Molly hated her body for reacting the way it was. She could’ve sworn she could _feel_ her pupils dilating. Here, in Jim’s embrace, engulfed by the scent of his expensive cologne, feeling his stubble brush against her cheek, it was so difficult to keep her composure, to not melt into him and let him have his wicked way with her.

Three days really was much too long.

“I need to fuck you, Molly,” he said in a low, rough voice, his Irish lilt causing the L's in her name to roll off his tongue in a melody so delicious she strongly wished he’d put that sinful tongue to use on her throbbing clit.

Molly just barely contained a moan, but she couldn’t stop her body from leaning into his a tiny bit more. “We’re in a fight…,” she repeated her earlier sentiment, but considering how breathy her voice was this time, she doubted it was nearly as effective.

Jim hummed and walked her backward, his hands slipping lower on her body until he was cupping her ass. He lifted her up and carried her the rest of the way to the desk on the other side of the room. Once she was sitting on the edge, he focused on undoing the button of her jeans. “You’ve never heard of hate sex, my dear?”

Getting off with the person who heightened her emotions, lately the bad ones, like no other without calling off their fight? Hate sex it was.

Molly grabbed Jim by the lapels and snogged him hard. She was a woman starved, and she moaned into his mouth accordingly. She subconsciously admired his determination to give as well as he got without breaking his concentration on her jeans. Once he got the zipper, she hoisted herself up to aid him in peeling the denim halfway down her legs.

“Missed this,” Jim murmured, pushing her knickers to the side and slipping a finger between her soaked folds. He pushed his finger the whole way inside her then used his thumb to rub her clit. “Missed you.”

She keened and buried her face in his neck as he set the pace, starting out slow then gradually increasing both the speed and the pressure. “Missed you, too,” she confessed on a half-sigh. She hadn’t realized it until now, had been so focused on staying mad at him, on ignoring him. But she really had missed this, them. Him. If he was half as wound up as she was, it was a wonder he hadn’t guided her hand toward his trousers yet…

Jim added another finger and Molly bit her lip, trying not to be too loud. The laughter from earlier finally escaped her. Sherlock was just down the hall in her lab. Sherlock, self-proclaimed genius and world-class know-it-all that he was, and he had no idea his nemesis was right under his nose, in the very same building, fingering “his” pathologist. But then, Molly remembered pleasantly, this wasn’t the first time that situation had occurred.

She kissed the skin of his throat and contentedly sighed. “Been too long since we fucked on a desk.”

Jim twisted his fingers just right inside of her in response, eliciting a sharp, “ _Fuck_!” from his girlfriend. He kissed her hair and said, “Tell me when you’re close, Mollikins.”

She could do little more than nod against his neck.

“Ready to admit I’m right?” He snaked his free hand up inside her jumper and thumbed her nipple through her bra.

She bit her lip on a whimper. “N-No, wrong, you’re wrong—oh god, fuck, Jim, do that again. Cl-Close, I’m—”

Jim abruptly removed his fingers and took his hand out from under her top. “Well, when you’re ready…” He pulled back enough to look her in the eye and literally morphed into the half smile emoticon. “Do give me a call.” He straightened his suit jacket and started for the door.

Molly’s jaw might as well have hit the floor. She stared wide-eyed at his retreating back, every emotion possible crashing over her in waves, most notably how cold she suddenly felt without his body heat, and how agonizingly unsatisfied she was without her release. She tried to form a sentence, any sentence, but found all she could do was splutter. At last, she managed to shout, “You’re evil!”

Jim turned toward her and stuck his fingers in his mouth, making a show of sucking on them. “And you’re _delicious_.” He pointedly raised his eyebrows and said, “Spoiling _Glee_ , Molly? Really? And _I’m_ the evil one…”

Molly had never wanted to punch someone in the face so much in her life. She was so painfully aroused, and she knew her own hand wasn’t going to be anywhere near satisfying enough. So she said the only thing she could think of. “W-Well maybe I’ll just go have Sherlock finish me off then!”

“Ooooh, wouldn’t that be something.” Jim widened his eyes with mock enthrallment. “The consulting criminal’s misbehaving queen taking the consulting detective’s innocence. Sounds very hot. Do text me the _dirty details_.”

Molly growled in supreme frustration.

Jim grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and opened the door. “Ciao, Mollikins!”

And he was gone.

Molly kicked her legs against the desk and made a sound low in her throat, the sound of a woman ready to kill a man.

Fine then. He wanted to play dirty? Molly would play dirtier.

Ignoring the hellish ache between her legs, she pulled up her jeans and readjusted her lab coat. She knew Jim wasn’t actually okay with her hooking up with Sherlock. She knew she had suggested it and he was only feigning nonchalance to avoid playing into her hand. She knew they were in a fight, playing a game, really, and he was only trying to get back at her. But it hurt all the same that he would encourage her to get off with another man, his arch enemy, at that, as though he didn’t care if she shared intimacy with someone other than him. Like she wasn’t special.

Well, Molly would just have to see to it he changed his tune.

She was no longer in any mood to eat, which meant she could get started right away. She made a short stop at the ladies’ room to rid herself of any signs she had just been in a compromising position. She dropped by her office to brush her hair and douse herself in perfume to cover up Jim’s cologne. And then, wearing her most innocent smile, she returned to the lab.

John was missing, but Sherlock was sitting in front of his favorite microscope, seemingly unaware she’d come in.

“You’re still here,” she sighed with obvious relief. “Good. Listen, Sherlock...” She walked toward him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Apparently, she was doing something right because he actually bothered to look up. She took this opportunity to shift her countenance from meek to sultry. She rested her small hand atop his larger one on the lab table. Sherlock looked down at where their bodies made contact, apprehension showing on his face. “I’m terribly sorry about the way I behaved earlier. Would you still like me to fetch those materials for you?”

He continued to stare at their hands, unsure of how to respond, it appeared. Molly couldn’t believe how easy this was. She should’ve tried coming on uncomfortably strong back when she actually liked him.

Eventually, Sherlock found the strength to raise his eyes to meet hers. She gave him her best bedroom eyes, willing herself not to break character. He cleared his throat and said, “That’s quite alright, Molly. John offered as soon as you left.”

Molly knew “John offered” meant “Sherlock made him,” but she only flashed her brightest smile in response. “How nice of him.” She shifted up onto the stool next to his and leaned forward, putting on a show of never taking her eyes off him. “So. You and John. Anything going on there?”

Sherlock stared at her and watched as she blinked at him several more times than necessary. He swallowed hard and said, “If you’re referring to a romantic or sexual entanglement, no, Molly. John is not gay.”

“Well, you’re not, either,” she supplied easily. “You liked that woman—Irene.” She should’ve seen it before: Sherlock’s type when it came to women was apparently those who shamelessly threw themselves at him to the point he became unsure of how to respond. This was the first time she had flirted with him and he hadn’t insulted her or used her affections for his own gain, but then this was also the first time she had flirted with him without meaning it. Molly bit her lip and let her eyes roam over his body. “She was rather… _upfront_ with her sexual prowess, yeah?”

Sherlock stole a glance at the door in such a desperate manner, Molly almost burst into hysterics right then and there. The man simply did not know what to do with sexually-forward women.

Lucky for him, he didn’t have to do anything.

John pushed through the door right at that moment, carrying a grocery bag. “I got everything you wanted,” he said distractedly, his tone indicative of what Molly had already assumed about his little trip. “You’re lucky, too, because they were almost out of—”

He looked up then and took note of the little situation over by the microscope: Molly cornering Sherlock, Sherlock looking more relieved than anyone had ever seen him.

The consulting detective literally jumped off of his stool and exclaimed, “John! Good work. I’ll just take those in the back…” He scooped up the grocery bag and hid himself away in the little room off the lab.

Molly nearly snorted.

John’s brow crinkled. “Is he…?”

“Oh, he’s fine.” She waved a hand dismissively and stole a complacent glance out the window. She didn’t know how, but Jim had eyes and ears everywhere. Wherever today’s camera was stationed, she wanted him to pay attention to this next part.

“Actually…” She hopped off her stool and sidled up to a clearly confused Dr. John Watson. “Sherlock was just inviting me over for dinner tonight.”

The short man’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “You’re—you’re kidding, right? Sherlock doesn’t even _cook_!”

Molly shrugged, eyes wide with innocence. “We’re getting takeout. I’ll be over around seven, yeah?”

Without giving John time to respond, Molly slipped out the door and texted Sebastian.

**I’m leaving work at 6:30. Have someone else finish up whatever I don’t get done. –MH**

**Now _you’re_ giving me orders?? –SM**

**I’m your boss’s girlfriend. –MH**

**But you two are in a fight. –SM**

**Did he say you were to refuse me your services when we’re in a fight? –MH**

Molly was halfway through an autopsy by the time Sebastian finally replied.

**It’s taken care of. –SM**

She smirked. Just a few hours left until it was showtime.

* * *

She was only home for three minutes before her resolve began to crumble.

A quick scan of her closet revealed Molly owned nothing that would make Sherlock find her attractive.

She scoffed aloud at the irony of the situation. The last time she had worn a dress in the hopes of seducing Sherlock Holmes, he had promptly announced to everyone present that she was lacking in the breast department. As though that hadn’t been her biggest insecurity since she was twelve years old.

 _But_ , she thought with a small smile.

Then she and Jim got together. Back together. She wasn’t sure what to call it; it wasn’t the first time they’d dated, but it was the first time they’d dated without him posing as a tech guy. And while Jim from IT had been good in bed, Jim Moriarty was _amazing_. He made it no secret how much he enjoyed her breasts; it was impossible to miss given how much time he spent touching and teasing them during foreplay and intercourse alike. When the most dangerous man in all of London delighted in spending hours worshiping every inch of her body, it became difficult for Molly to go on believing herself to be unappealing.

After their third time having sex, she couldn’t remember ever again feeling unbeautiful.

And now here she was, trying to pick an outfit for a date with a man who formerly made her feel nothing but unbeautiful. All to one-up Jim in their fight.

She leaned her head back and groaned. This was hopeless.

Across the room, her phone buzzed. He must’ve been watching the cameras set up in her flat.

**You’re not John, therefore The Virgin will be dissatisfied no matter what you wear. But if my opinion counts, go with the blue cocktail dress. x**

One corner of her mouth turned up sadly. She had half a mind to text him and ask to call the whole thing off, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her surrender. Still, her throat tightened as she read his words over and over again. How she wished she could be in the arms of the man who loved her rather than going to fall all over a man who didn’t.

She actually typed the words _Stop me from going_ , but quickly erased them. This was Jim; he loved to play games. She needed to stay sharp and play right back.

**We’ll see about that. xxx**

She knew they were in a fight and thus had been avoiding their signature three X’s to indicate romantic attachment, but Molly couldn’t help it. She would go to Sherlock’s, but she was counting on Jim to stop her before things could get physical. It wouldn’t hurt to remind him she was still his girlfriend.

Plus, if the dull ache in her heart was any indication, she really did miss him.

* * *

Molly was approaching her restaurant of choice when Sherlock sent her a text.

**Takeout is taken care of. Come to the flat when you’re ready. –SH**

Molly blinked at her phone, unsure. Sherlock had gotten their food? He’d learned about their date from John; he couldn’t be _that_ enthusiastic about it…

Shaking her head, Molly hailed a taxi and tried to clear her head. She just needed to stay in the moment and not think about Jim. Stay in the moment and flirt enough so that Jim wouldn’t be able to resist interrupting the date. She recognized the contradictory nature of her plan, but she didn’t have time to improve upon it.

* * *

By the time Molly arrived at 221B, Sherlock had sent her a follow-up text informing her she could let herself in. So that’s what she did. She walked up to the flat and was surprised to find Sherlock waiting for her alone, sitting comfortably in his chair.

“No John?” Molly was going for nonchalance as she removed her coat and settled into the seat opposite Sherlock, the one she knew to be the doctor’s designated chair. The coffee table had been moved from in front of the couch to the space in between the two pieces of furniture. Two bags of takeout rested atop it.

“No John,” Sherlock clarified. “He grabbed the food, but couldn’t stay to join us. Said he had plans.”

Molly internally winced on behalf of Sherlock’s poor flatmate, running errands for him, being kicked out of his own place for fake dates with women who had a thing for sociopaths…

“You look nice,” Sherlock noted without breaking his stride of opening up his takeout bag.

She had taken Jim’s suggestion and worn the blue cocktail dress. Either this was her best look ever, or Sherlock had learned how to offer better commentary since the last time she dressed up to see him.

Which reminded her of her mission.

She conjured up her most coquettish grin and lowered her eyes in false humility. “Why, thank you. You look dashing yourself.”

Sherlock motioned to his suit. “This old thing? Hardly had time to go shopping, and I did learn of our date through my doctor…”

Molly could only imagine how that conversation had gone down. She opened her own bag of takeout and began unpacking its contents. “Sorry about that. I just really wanted to spend some time with you. I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.”

The consulting detective shrugged. “You’ve seemed content.”

She resisted the urge to analyze his facial expression, for she highly doubted that statement was innocuous. She stole a quick glance at the door. She didn’t know how Jim would do it. Send in a faux maintenance man who insisted upon checking Sherlock’s plumbing? Maybe a pretend uncle to announce her mother was on her death bed and they needed to get on the road immediately? Have a rowdy group of ex-cons break in downstairs and threaten to rob Mrs. Hudson? All she knew was if she wanted anyone to come barging in to 221B this evening, she needed to move things along.

Twining some noodles around her fork, Molly tilted her head and almost smirked at him. “Appearances, appearances. Come now, you know how I enjoy you.”

Sherlock raised his own forkful of food to his mouth without breaking eye contact. “Oh?”

“The things you can do with a corpse and a whip…” She raised her eyebrows. “Well. I think you know what that does to me.”

This “date” was going to involve lots of staring, it seemed. Fine by Molly; they didn’t need to talk. She just needed the camera watching them, wherever it may have been, to capture the physical side of it all.

Molly slipped her foot out of her kitten heel and underneath the coffee table. She placed it against Sherlock’s ankle and lightly trailed it upward. If her former self could see her now…

Sherlock’s eyes flicked to her foot and followed its tantalizingly slow ascent up the leg of his trousers. But rather than comment or move his leg, he merely switched the topic.

* * *

For the next hour, Sherlock engaged her in conversation about everything from the weather to her job to John’s eating habits, and Molly found her eyes drifting toward the door more and more. If nothing else, Jim should’ve interrupted by now to inform her she’d lost, right? How long was he going to let this go on for? And why was Sherlock actually _trying_? She pushed around the last remains of her takeout with her plastic fork and barely noticed when one of the flimsy prongs snapped off.

Apparently, the consulting detective noticed she was distracted, for he stood and clapped his hands together once. “I have a confession to make.”

Molly frowned. She set her cup down and peered up at him. “Oh?”

He pushed the empty food cartons aside and sat himself on her side of the coffee table so that their faces were mere inches apart. The faint hint of apprehension struck her core.

“And what confession would that be?”

“I fancy you, Molly Hooper.”

Molly stared and stared and stared. There was simply no way that was true. It couldn’t be. He was _Sherlock_ ; he’d made it clear plenty of times before he did not find her attractive. She realized the whole goal of this dinner date was to mess with Jim, to make him regret his little stunt during her lunch break, to make him panic and realize _no_ , even if he’d said it at the time, he was not okay with her and Sherlock Holmes getting all touchy-feely. But now that she was achieving her goal a little _too_ well and there was no trace of her boyfriend...

“Excuse me?” she squeaked.

“I’ve fancied you for quite some time now. You’ve changed, built your confidence, grown into yourself. I thought you’d refuse me if I told you how I felt given our history, but when John told me you wanted to have dinner…” His eyes lit up with some sort of crazy she’d never seen on him before. “I was _ecstatic_.”

Molly could feel her hands starting to shake. _Don’t panic_ , she adamantly told herself. _This can still work_. She licked her lips ever so slightly and inclined her head to the side. “Is that so?”

“Very much so.” He took her hands in his and repeated himself, pronouncing each syllable deliberately. “Very. Much. So.”

Under other circumstance, Molly imagined she would find this hilarious. The irony was truly incredible: she used to want this—want _him_ —so badly it hurt. And now here he was, the great Sherlock Holmes, sitting on a coffee table, confessing his feelings for her, and all she wanted to do was run. But even if she did, how would she explain her actions the next time she saw him? _Sorry, I was nervous_? She’d have to go on pretending to fancy him because it wasn’t like she could tell him the truth.

How had she gotten herself into this mess? And more importantly, why had Jim not yet blown up the apartment beneath them to cause a diversion? Was he really going to make her go through with this? Did he really care that little for her?

She felt a wave of tears working its way through her, but figured that was fine. If she started to cry, Sherlock would assume she was so pathetically happy to hear his confession she just couldn’t contain herself.

“Molly, I…” Sherlock’s gaze drifted to her lips, his intent obvious.

Molly stole one last glance at the door and prayed as hard as she could. She leaned forward just a millimeter; Sherlock copied her movement. She gave a little more; he returned the gesture. Ever so slowly, their faces came nearer and nearer. Surely he would back down. He was _Sherlock_! He didn’t _do_ the physical side of relationships! But their lips were so close to touching, much too close for Molly’s liking, and it was becoming alarmingly clear with each passing second the detective was not going to stop their inevitable meeting. Apparently, he was now okay with kissing.

 _But_.

Kissing was a far cry from sex.

It was a last-ditch effort, and she could feel her heart breaking with the knowledge Jim could see everything, that he had been ready to let them kiss, but she was out of options.

Their lips a hairsbreadth away, she said inelegantly, “I’d like to take you to bed.”

Sherlock stared at her with an unreadable expression. He said nothing for exactly ten seconds (she counted), and then, “Okay.”

Molly felt her heart plunge into her stomach. She closed her eyes in defeat, the tears threatening to make their appearance. How was she supposed to get out of this? What was she supposed—?

All of a sudden, Sherlock made a sound like he was tired and taking pity on her. “Who is he?”

Molly’s heart made a U-turn and beat up her throat. Her eyes sprung open to find him leaning away, thankfully, and eyeing her with a knowing expression. “W-Who is who?”

The consulting detective pushed himself off the coffee table and straightened his suit jacket. “Your boyfriend, of course,” he said silkily, slipping back into his own chair and crossing his legs conversationally.

Molly could physically feel the anxiety draining out of her body. So relieved was she that she didn’t have to cheat on her boyfriend that she was slow to pick up on where this was going. She audibly exhaled, had no control over it, and decided to play it off as offense. “You think I have a boyfriend?”

“Nooo, Molly, I _know_ you have a boyfriend.” Sherlock offered up a tight-lipped smile and steepled his fingers, clearly pleased with himself. “Have had one for quite some time now, too.”

She found her thin frame sinking back into John's chair of it's own accord. The last waves of relief washed over her and were quickly replaced with rising waves of panic. All these years, she had kept her relationship with Jim a secret. And now this stupid little game had muddied the waters. She had to do damage control. “You’re wrong. Why would I be on a date with you if I had a boyfriend?”

“To piss him off, obviously,” Sherlock said with total confidence.

Molly couldn’t help but laugh. It was true, of course, but the absurdity of it all played to her favor. “Not everyone thinks like you, Sherlock.”

For reasons that went over her head, the consulting detective smirked at that. He took a beat, and then sat up even straighter in his chair and launched into his deductions. “Wasn’t hard to figure out. You’ve been happy for quite some time now. Given your feelings for me obviously went away, the logical explanation is you found a boyfriend. When I came into the lab today, you essentially told me to piss off, left, then returned early from your lunch break, having eaten nothing and wearing more perfume than you had been previously—clearly a poor attempt to mask a man’s scent. This concurring with the way you uncharacteristically threw yourself at me and invited yourself over to my flat says you had an altercation with him during the time you were gone and decided to use me to bait him. You’ve been glancing at the door approximately every five minutes since you arrived, you asked me to bed in the hopes I’d panic and throw you out so you would not have to kiss me, and you’re dreadfully sad he’s not yet kicked down my door to disrupt our evening. Did I get anything wrong so far?”

Molly could do nothing but sit rigidly still in her chair and glare at him.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as though to say _Right then_ , and sat forward excitedly, clasping his hands under his chin. “Now, the question is why me. You could’ve picked any male at Bart’s, but you wanted one you knew you’d be safe with, one you could count on to not actually kiss you or wish to engage in intercourse. However, you’re friendly with many single members of the staff. Surely one of them would’ve agreed to a fake date if you’d asked. And yet you selected me. You wanted me in particular; you knew that _I_ would really get under his skin.”

Molly was much too consumed with how _bad_ this was to hear the door downstairs opening and closing.

“It could be as simple as he knows you used to fancy me, but I don’t think so. You’re so sure he’ll show up, but why should he suspect you’re here? That tells me he watched you try to seduce me at Bart’s, and he watched you take a cab here. You were of the impression he would stop us just before we could kiss, at just the right time, almost as if he has eyes and ears everywhere. And you’re right, Molly: not everyone thinks like me.” He smiled. “But one person does. I can only think of one person who would be properly pissed off at you choosing me of all people for this little revenge scheme.”

She didn’t know how she was supposed to get out of this. She would deny it, of course. She would deny it until her last breath; she would never give Jim away. But Sherlock would see right through her. No matter what she said, he would know she was lying.

“Add in that you arrogantly assumed you could pull this over on me and I’d say your _boyfriend_ is someone you consider smarter than me, which really only leaves us with one option, now, doesn’t it?”

Molly dug her fingernails into her palms. This was all so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Everything was crashing down around her all because of a game, because she and Jim had gotten into a sleep-deprived argument over—

“MOLLY!”

Molly startled and turned toward the door.

Standing there, clothed from head to toe in a navy blue sailor’s suit, was none other than Sebastian Moran. His face was flushed, he was crushing a bouquet of crumpled roses, and he looked angry enough to explode.

Sherlock’s eyebrows drew together in equal parts confusion and disappointment. “ _Oh_.”

Molly pushed her overflowing joy to the back of her mind for the time being. She had never been so thankful to see Seb in her life, but she had no idea how she was supposed to play this. She blinked dumbly at the sniper-turned-seaman. “I... I…”

“I tell you I have to work late on our anniversary so you go and shag another man?!” Sebastian threw down the bouquet and stormed into the room, his glare convincingly irate. He subtly flicked his eyes toward the name tag pinned to his uniform. CAPT EDDIE, it read. It occurred to Molly the real Captain Eddie was most likely floating dead in the waters he’d sailed for how many years. She bit her tongue hard.

“I wasn’t going to _shag_ him, Eddie!” She pushed herself to her feet and did her best to look appalled. “We were only having dinner.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Sebastian looked at Sherlock with pure contempt. “You couldn’t please her if you tried. She’s very kinky, this one!”

“Eddie!” Molly yelped. A genuine blush stained her cheeks. She wasn't sure if that was scripted, or if Seb was using this Eddie character to vent his personal frustrations. Just a few weeks ago, he was driving a tipsy Jim and Molly home from a date when Jim demanded he pull over and "assist them" in the back. Molly had decided she would very much like for Jim to bind her wrists with his skull tie, but she was giggling too much to stay still and he was too distracted to undo his tie in the first place, let alone tie a knot that would hold her. When they finally arrived at Jim's current hideout, Sebastian spent forty-five minutes standing guard _outside_ the vehicle before he was asked to unbind a now semi-naked Molly while his boss frowned at his half-on half-off trousers, attempting to smooth out the fresh wrinkles.

Either way, they needed to get out of here immediately before she did something to blow their cover, something like dissolve into a pile of giggles.

“My apologies, Captain.” Sherlock stood and held up his hands. The expression on his face was such a rarity for the genius: total bewilderment. “Didn’t mean to intrude on your anniversary.” He turned to Molly, who was apparently doing a good job of looking pissed off. “My apologies for what I implied, Molly.” And then, as though it was painful for him to admit it: “I was wrong.”

Oh, Jim must have been laughing his ass off right about now. Molly conjured up her meekest smile from her past life and said softly, “I forgive you. I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this.” She linked her arm through Sebastian’s and said, “A mutual friend at the hospital set us up. He knew I used to have a thing for you, so I knew he’d tell Eddie if I was…” She shrugged as though to indicate their dinner. “With you.”

Sebastian scowled. “You’re damn right he did. Moll, what were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, babe.” She looked down at her shoes as though ashamed. “It’s just… I was really looking forward to tonight… And when you said you’d be late because of your job _again_ …”

“Come here.” Sebastian pulled her into a hug, safely hiding her face from Sherlock. She allowed herself a quick victory grin, just to get it out of her system. When they pulled apart, Sebastian looked down at her with a softer countenance. “We can talk more about this at your place, yeah?”

She nodded solemnly.

Sherlock barely took note of Sebastian helping Molly into her jacket. He was staring off into the void, probably preparing to go without speaking for the next three days.

Molly slipped her hand into Seb’s and the two walked toward the door. “Tell John I’m sorry for imposing,” she called over her shoulder.

Sherlock, who appeared to be contemplating his life choices, merely responded, “Sure, sure…”

They were silent the entire walk down the stairs of Mrs. Hudson’s apartment. When they stepped outside and Seb led her toward not one of Jim’s sleek black cars but an old, cheap-looking van, she had to squeeze his hand to contain herself.

The moment they pulled out into London’s nighttime traffic, Molly finally allowed herself to laugh, _really_ laugh. Her emotions had been all over the place all day, and given the performance the second most dangerous man in London had just put on for Sherlock Holmes, it felt wonderful to have an outlet to get it all out of her system.

Sebastian ripped the ridiculous sailor’s hat off his head and chucked it in the back. “I am too old for this shit…”

Molly’s stomach hurt too much from laughing, otherwise she would’ve reminded Seb he was younger than both her and Jim.

“Whatever you two are arguing about, it’s got to stop.” Sebastian turned onto the familiar route to Molly’s flat. He was driving way above the speed limit, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. “Way too many people got to live to see another day because of all the detours you two sent me on.”

Molly sobered up a bit at that. She knew he was right. The fear she had experienced when Sherlock was figuring it out… She wouldn’t waste another moment being angry with Jim.

“Okay,” she agreed, smiling absently at her hands. “Take me to wherever he’s staying.”

Seb sent her a look that hung somewhere between exasperation and reluctant admiration. “I am.”

They stopped in front of her flat.

And just like that, a lump materialized in Molly’s throat. Her eyes welled up with tears, and though she couldn’t verbalize why, she understood all the way down to her bones.

Sebastian killed the engine and fixed her with his Serious Yet Soft expression. It wasn’t a look he wore often. “You’re not disposable to him, Molly. You pushed, so he pushed back. He’s an infuriating little bastard like that. But you must know he’d give up Westwood before he allowed anyone, let alone _Sherlock Holmes_ , to touch his lady.”

Molly swiped at her eyes and smiled. “Come on. I think you can help us end our argument.”

The sniper groaned. “How could I possibly do that?”

“Just trust me.” Molly unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the vehicle. As she approached the front door, she heard Seb’s footsteps obediently behind her.

Jim was sitting in his favorite chair in her living room, dressed down in a T-shirt and jeans. Toby was curled up in his lap, purring as the consulting criminal scratched him behind the ears.

Molly removed her jacket, passed it off to Seb, and crossed the room. She perched on the arm of the chair then leaned down and gave her boyfriend a chaste kiss. “Hi.”

He returned the sentiment and fixed her with that look he reserved solely for her, the look that caused flowers to bloom in her chest and every nerve in her body to know she was home. “Hi.”

Toby meowed his greetings.

Molly played with the hair at the nape of her boyfriend’s neck. “Sebby says we have to end our fight.”

Jim closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He was much like Toby in that regard: pet him behind the ears and he practically purred. “What do you think I’m here for?”

The corners of Molly’s mouth turned up in a smile. She’d missed this so very much. She took a deep breath, gathered Toby in her arms, and stood. “So, Sebastian…” She approached the sniper who was watching their little lovefest from the other side of the living room. “Tell us: is Toby light brown or pale brown?”

Jim’s right-hand man stared at her for a long minute. He turned to look at his boss, then back to her, then back to his boss again. He opened his mouth, but struggled to find the right words. “You’re not—you’re fucking—he’s _brown_!”

“Well, yes, that’s rather obvious.” Jim’s eyes shifted around as though he was astounded at the stupidity of his second-in-command. “We want to know if he’s light brown or pale brown.”

“Y…” Sebastian exhaled deeply through his nose. He placed his hands in prayer position in front of his mouth. Slowly, he stated more than asked, “You two have been fighting for three days over what shade of brown this little furball is?”

“Yes,” the couple answered in unison.

Sebastian seemed to be in pain as he told them in a strained whisper, “ _Brown_. He’s brown.”

Molly turned to Jim, pursing her lips in a contemplative manner.

Jim shrugged.

Toby meowed.

Molly nodded. “Brown it is. Thanks, Seb!”

Rather than respond, Seb shook his head and dragged himself toward the door, muttering under his breath, “Unfuckingbelievable…” And then, louder: “I’m returning that piece of junk and getting out of these clothes.” He didn’t wait for Jim to OK his plans before closing the door on his way out.

“You do that, Seb,” the consulting criminal responded anyway.

Molly set Toby on the carpet then practically skipped over to her boyfriend. She curled herself up in his lap and kissed him tenderly, relishing in the way he held her in his arms. Jim brought his hand up to cup her cheek and rubbed his thumb back and forth over her cheekbone. She cherished how that small gesture made her feel so safe, so loved.

When they broke apart, Jim watched the emotions playing out on her face. “Did you almost start to wonder if I was going to let it happen, you and Sherlock?” He smirked ever so faintly and pecked her jaw. “I nearly get ya?”

Now that their fight was over and Molly was thinking clearly again, she found she was able to view tonight’s events in a new light. “You waited to intervene because you wanted to watch him figure it out.”

“Good…” Jim pushed the right strap of his favorite blue cocktail dress down her shoulder.

“You wanted him to think it was you.”

“Good, because…” He kissed the now naked expanse of skin near her clavicle.

“He won’t arrive at the same conclusion twice.”

“Vvvery good.” He pulled the rest of the right side of her dress down, then proceeded to kiss his way down her exposed breast.

Molly moaned and leaned into his ministrations as he began to tongue her nipple. “You know, the last time you got me like this, I was left extremely unsatisfied.”

“Game’s over now,” Jim said easily. He pushed away the fabric on the left side of her body until her upper half was fully bare. He cupped her breasts, and Molly found the most honest smile she’d worn in days adorning her face. “We’re not in a fight, I’ve taken the day off tomorrow, and you’ll be calling in sick, which Sherlock will of course conclude means you and Captain Eddie are making up for your ruined anniversary.”

Molly reached down and tugged at the hem of his shirt. She would not be the only one getting unclothed this time; she needed to _see_ him. He helped her pull the offending garment over his head. “We can finally continue our _Glee_ binge!” she said happily.

Jim grasped her thighs and repositioned her so that she was straddling his hips. He hummed. “Even though you so rudely spoiled it for me.”

Molly ground her pelvis into his and relished the sound he made in response. “Well then I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.” She planted open-mouthed kisses on his neck, beginning a trail that led down onto his chest. “All. Night. Long.”

Jim played with her hair as her mouth continued its descent down his body. It wasn’t until Toby bounded over and stretched out before them that they stopped their respective ministrations. The couple glanced at the cat, then at each other. They nodded. “Brown.”

That was the last thought Toby was spared for the evening, for the consulting criminal and his lady pathologist had _much_ making up to do. And while the world might rant and rave about hate sex, Jim and Molly found they much preferred makeup sex. Loud, passionate makeup sex that lasted all night long.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't watch Glee so I have no idea when Finn first mentions how he thinks his dad died. If it wasn't relevant throughout the series or literally until the episode where he learns the truth, PRETEND OTHERWISE.
> 
> Inspired by a Tumblr post which reads: Both Jim and Molly having been up for twenty-four hours because of their work and they start arguing about whether or not Toby is pale brown or light brown and the argument effectively ends with them agreeing that the cat is brown
> 
> The lovely BurningLostStars also made a graphic to go with this fic: http://whyimmathere.tumblr.com/post/168676505652/cold-war-by-ribcage-midnightmoriartea-she-had AND a cover: http://whyimmathere.tumblr.com/post/170340750522/cold-war-by-blessmoriarty-she-had-to-admit-jim


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